Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Aurelia
Even from a distance, I could tell the city wasn’t itself. The streets bustled—banners fluttering in the wind, vendors calling out prices, fae dressed in their finest silks, hurrying toward the palace gates. It looked festive. Joyous.
But the joy felt… empty.
Every banner waving the goldleaf stag had frost creeping along its edges. And in between the bustling fae, Obsidian soldiers patrolled with hollow gazes and blood-crusted blades.
Slade stared at the city and let out a low whistle. “Callan really knows how to throw a party.”
“It’s not a party,” Thorne muttered. “It’s a funeral dressed as one.”
He was right. Duron’s. Callan’s. The realm’s.
I pulled my hood lower. I’d altered my appearance as much as I could—darkened hair with soot, sharp line of shadow smeared across my cheeks, cloak marred with road dust—but it wouldn’t fool anyone who looked directly at me.
Too many fae here had seen my face before.
Not to mention the Obsidians who had my face imprinted in their mind’s eye by their master.
“Let’s move,” I said quietly.
We slipped into the flow of bodies entering the city. Market stalls were crowded, fae buying ribbons and pastries and bottles of honey-spiced wine. Musicians played at the corner of Oak Square, cheerful and oblivious.
“Can’t believe they’re excited,” Slade muttered. “What kind of idiot celebrates their king marrying the woman who froze half their kingdom and cursed another besides?”
“The kind who’s been told it will save them,” Thorne said.
He nodded at a pair of gossiping fae near a fruit cart.
“—Her Majesty brings peace—”
“—Our people will be protected—”
“—Winter will shield us from the curse—”
Propaganda. Crude but effective.
My stomach twisted. If Heliconia could convince an entire city she was salvation instead of ruin, what hope did the rest of Menryth have?
Cold prickled the back of my neck.
An Obsidian patrol turned the corner ahead of us—six armored soldiers with blackened eyes and ice-woven blades. They moved like a single living weapon.
Slade nudged me. “Stay behind Thorne.”
I stepped behind them both, head down.
The patrol approached.
One of them paused—head tilting, inhaling sharply.
Slade dropped a pouch containing coins—loudly—and swore. “Perfect, just perfect. First day on leave and I’m already broke.”
Three of the soldiers glanced at him.
Slade made a spectacle of scrambling after the rolling silver. “Fates above, I hate this city. Why are your streets uneven? Don’t they know clumsy people exist? This is discrimination, that’s what it is—”
Thorne rolled his eyes, annoyed at his fellow soldier.
The patrol lost interest.
They continued toward the palace gates.
Only when they were gone did my lungs loosen.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“You can name your firstborn after me,” Slade said breezily.
Thorne made a sound like choking. “Absolutely not.”
“She can put her own twist on it,” Slade said as if that made it entirely better. “Preferably something handsome and heroic. ‘Sladerius’ has a ring to it.”
I rolled my eyes as Thorne barked out a laugh.
We made our way through the city, keeping to the shadows. I saw frost creeping along windowsills, dead flowers wilting from planters, a thin glaze of ice forming on fountain water even in midday sun.
Heliconia’s presence was everywhere.
By late afternoon, we reached the cheerful row of townhouses tucked behind the edge of downtown. My eyes landed on one of a dozen like it, but I recognized it immediately. My heart ached at the sight.
We snuck along the side to the back door. Thorne pushed it open with his boot. The hinges groaned. Dust motes swirled in the dim entryway.
I stepped inside the kitchen just as I’d done the first time. Rydian had been at my back then. He’d saved my life that day in the alley despite pretending to hate me through it all. That was the day he’d admitted what he really felt. And the day I learned who Callan truly was.
My chest tightened painfully.
Had it only been weeks since then?
Slade dropped his cloak on a hook. “I’m going to find out if we still get hot water.”
“I’ll see if there’s anything to eat,” Thorne said, turning for the pantry.
But I was already drawn toward the stairs.
Rydian’s room was at the end of the hall—small, neat, sparsely furnished. A cot, a trunk, a weapons rack. A small wooden table. I didn’t need to ask whether it was his. I knew it by the scent. Even now, after so much time away, it still lingered here. Woodsmoke and pine resin.
I sat on the edge of his bed.
It felt wrong to be here without him. But it was also a comfort.
On the table, half-hidden beneath a folded shirt, was a letter. The handwriting struck me instantly—sharp strokes, elegant flourishes, ink blotted once as if the pen had trembled. My gaze drew down to the signature line.
Cadira.
Rydian’s mother. The queen of the Midnight Court, who had refused to meet me when I’d been all but on her doorstep.
My heart thudded.
I shouldn’t read it.
But my fingers were already unfolding the parchment.
Rydian,
I prayed the Furiosities had turned their attention elsewhere and chosen another vessel to burden with such a sacrifice… but when have the gods ever been merciful?
If she truly carries the Chosen’s power, then your path is already written. I cannot ask you to step off it. I cannot beg you to stay. So I will simply say this: I do not want to lose you. I do not want you to die for someone the gods chose without care for the ones left behind.
If there is another way—any other way—I will find it.
—Mother
My hand shook slightly.
She hadn’t been cruel. She’d been terrified. Terrified of losing her son. Terrified of me taking him from her. A single line burned in my mind: I do not want you to die. Neither did I. But the gods didn’t care what we wanted.
I folded the letter carefully and set it back.
I lay down on his bed, burying my face in his pillow. The faint scent of him on it made my throat ache.
Slade knocked on the doorframe, pushing open the door to peer in. “Thought I might find you here.”
I pushed myself upright. “And the hot water?”
“Thank the Fates, yes.” His eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Liar.” He pulled out the chair in the corner and sat, boots kicking up dust.
“I miss him,” I said quietly.
Slade’s smirk softened into something gentler. “He misses you too.”
“He probably doesn’t even know if I’m alive.”
“He knows,” Slade said firmly. “He always knows.”
I swallowed. “I lost control in that valley, Slade. If he’d reached me—if he’d gotten closer—”
“You didn’t hurt him,” he said simply. “And you didn’t lose yourself.”
I shook my head. “He jumped straight into that fire for me. I saw it. Before the naiad pulled him into the river.”
“He’d jump into a vat of acid for you,” Slade said. “Doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”
A faint, reluctant breath escaped me. “He shouldn’t have to—”
“He’s your equal,” Slade cut in. “Not your shield. Stop treating him like one.”
I stared at the floor.
He bumped my knee with his. “Also, I’m betting coin he’s halfway here already.”
“You’re probably right,” I admitted.
“Come downstairs when you’ve cleaned up,” he said. “We need to plan.”
We spread maps across the battered dining table. My full stomach grumbled in appreciation at the soup Thorne had managed to pull together from gods-knew-what he’d found in the pantry.
“This is delicious,” I said.
“It’s not as good as your usual,” Slade put in.
“Your usual?” I echoed. “Is making soup yet another hidden hobby of yours?” I joked.
Slade snorted. “I’d say this soup is ranked far below his usual.”
“I blame the ingredients at hand,” Thorne said with a shrug. He turned to me. “I’m not hiding anything. I cook, so what? You didn’t complain back at Frithhold.”
“You cooked the meals at Frithhold?” Why hadn’t I noticed? Oh yeah, I was too busy hating all of them for kidnapping me. “Including the bread?”
He smirked—just like he had the night he’d found me trying to read one of the books in his collection. I made a mental note to bring him on every mission forever if it meant eating this good. But after the comfort of the meal, it was time to focus on what came next.
Slade had slipped out earlier to gather news from the markets.
The ceremony was at sunset two days from now.
It would be private, mostly guards and a few nobles, followed immediately by Heliconia’s ceremonial crowning.
When Heliconia would be declared a queen of Autumn—and take her place on her new throne.
And once she sat upon it…
“We need to stop the ceremony before she gets anywhere near the throne,” Thorne said, tapping the map of the castle’s layout where the gardens were located. “Preferably before she gets near Callan.”
“Without killing him,” I said.
Slade sighed dramatically. “You’re no fun.”
“Slade,” I warned.
“I’m kidding,” he said. “Mostly.”
“We might need him,” Thorne added. “If our theory is correct, he’s the only one the Harvest Throne will share its magic with.”
“Fine,” Slade pouted.
Thorne traced the route from the townhouse to the palace. “We go in hidden. Through the servants’ quarter. Aurelia, you’ll need a disguise.”
“Heliconia will sense me no matter what I look like,” I said.
“What if we could cloak your magic?” Thorne suggested.
“How would we do that?”
Thorne shrugged. “A spell or something. Maybe a witch—”
“There are no witches remotely powerful enough to fool Heliconia,” Slade warned.
“So I don’t bother hiding,” I said. “We make a grand entrance.”
“Dramatic,” Slade said with a gleam. “I like it.”
“How will we get past the guards?” Thorne asked.
Everyone was silent at that. But I couldn’t let go of the idea that was forming.
“What if we could persuade them to let me through?” I asked, and now it was my turn to have a gleam in my eye.
“How?” Thorne asked.
“Callan.”
We spent the next hour arguing about contingency plans—what if Heliconia sensed me, what if the Obsidian patrols spotted Slade, what if Callan refused to help, what if we all got killed before we got in the door…
We didn’t have perfect answers.
But we had a plan.
A thin, reckless plan.
It would have to be enough.